David Hautville's eyes blazed back at her out of the whiteness of his wrath.
"Where have you been ?" he demanded, in a thick voice.
"To New Salem." "What for ?" "To see Burr, and beg him to confess that I killed Lot." "You didn't." "I did." "Fool!" David Hautville jerked the bridle so fiercely that the mare reared far back again.

He jerked her down to her feet, and she made a vicious lunge at him, but he shunted her away.
"I'll fasten you into your chamber," he shouted, "if this work goes on! I'll stop your making a fool of yourself." "It is Lot Gordon that is making fools of you all," said Madelon, in a hard, quiet voice.
"Did Burr Gordon say he didn't stab him ?" cried her father.
"No; he wouldn't own it.

He is trying to shield me." "He did it himself, and he'll hang for it." "No, he won't hang for what I did while I draw the breath of life.
I've got the strength of ten in me.

You don't know me, if I am your daughter." Madelon freed her bridle with a quick movement, and the mare flew forward into the barn.
David Hautville stood looking after her in utter fury and bewilderment.

Her last words rang in his ears and seemed true to him.
He felt as if he did not know his own daughter.